


Touches

by Quecksilver_Eyes



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Blood, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, camille is a bitch, lily is an angel, simon is a precious cinnamon roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 13:21:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6755737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quecksilver_Eyes/pseuds/Quecksilver_Eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here’s a scenario: Camille takes Raphael and Magnus holds his head high. He sways back and forth and Camille smiles, her fangs punctuating her red lips. Camille takes him, offers blood and protection and demands touches and loyalty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touches

Here’s a scenario:

  
Raphael doesn’t know who Camille is. He heard stories about her, about graceful fingers and thin bones. “She’s cruel”, Magnus says and lifts the glass to his lips. His cat eyes glow in the dark. Raphael looks at the smudged phone number on his wrist and the beads of his rosary slip through his fingers.  
Camille takes him and Magnus holds his head high.

He sways back and forth and Camille smiles, her fangs punctuating her red lips. Camille takes him, offers blood and protection and demands touches and loyalty. He picks a room and climbs into the casket. He misses sleep, he thinks as he closes his eyes and waits for death to settle into his bones the way it does every day. He misses dreaming.

It goes like this:

  
Vampires are damned. They have no souls and no dreams, the infectious demon blood in their veins washes it all away. The sickness takes their lives and their faith and rips God out of their flesh. It leaves the nightmares.

  
In those nightmares, Raphael is human. He lies in a coffin that is just a simple wooden box and that is too small for him and too deep under the surface. He cannot breathe and he remembers his claws and his fangs and tries to dig himself out of his grave. He doesn’t succeed.

  
He runs out of air and his throat is raw from screaming and it’s a dream, it’s just a dream, but that doesn’t make it better. He dreams about choking on soil and air he cannot breathe every night. Camille runs a finger over his shoulder and laughs sweetly.  
“Don’t think about it”, she says and gives him blood. He chokes it down and only then does he feel the remains of her touches. He scrambles under the shower and tries to wash it all off.

  
The bite marks are prominent against his pale skin and Camille snickers. Lily offers make up and concealer and he takes it. He uses the whole tube in one night and stands in front of the mirror, taking deep breaths he doesn’t need. _Idiota_ , he thinks and takes one of the expensive leather jackets Camille dropped into his arms, red lips curled into a smile, claws tracing the skin on his arms. He feels like a child.

  
The mirror lies shattered at his feet and his knuckles hurt.

  
Camille orders him to kidnap a mundane. He’s weak and tall and gangly and Raphael tries to focus on the blackmail and not on the intoxicating scent of caramel that oozes out of the mundane’s wound. His fangs scratch his lower lips and all he can think about is Camille. Her red lips and her fangs and her fingers and her small, breakable bones. He could snap them with just a flick of his fingers. But she looks at him and she smiles and she touches him – and he freezes.

  
“You don’t need me”, the mundane says and the scent of fear burns in Raphael’s nostrils. He scoffs. “On the contrary”, he says. “I do.”  
Camille bites the mundane and feeds him her blood and Raphael wants to rip the walls down and watch her burn into a crisp. She smiles and tells him to leave. He does. The mundane’s scent lingers in the air and Raphael’s fangs extend.

  
The mundane escapes and Camille is furious. Raphael wants to recoil and disappear. He doesn’t. He holds his head high and endures her touches and her teeth. He prays and finds himself thanking God for sending the shadowhunters at the exact right time. He has never been thankful for the nephilim before.

  
“You mean nothing”, he tells the mundane and bares his fangs and hisses because nobody deserves to live with Camille’s smiles. “You can’t think I’m interested in saving your worthless life again.” The mundane looks terrified and he reeks of Camille’s blood, of death and distraction and twisted games and sweet giggles. Raphael scares the mundane away and his fingers find the beads of his rosary again.

  
He prays for the mundane when he finds him on the floor at Camille’s feet. She smiles, the mundane’s blood sticking to her fangs. “Finish him off, will you”, she says and leaves. Raphael takes out his rosary and he prays and then he picks the mundane up and carries him to the institute.

  
He offers Valentine’s daughter the choice between _bury_ and _stake_. He crosses himself, kisses his crucifix and his lips burn. He hopes she’ll pick _stake_. He hopes he won’t have to teach the mundane how to smile in Camille’s face and do everything she wants and resist the urge to walk into sunlight. He hopes he’ll get a funeral and a peaceful end. His lips move and the beads of his rosary slip through his fingers.

  
She picks _bury._ Raphael wants to rip her throat out and feed the fledgling with her sickly sweet blood when he claws his way out of his grave and stares at her without actually recognising anything but the blood rushing through her veins. Instead, he throws the blood bags and scoffs.

  
Before he comes out, before they bury him, before Valentine’s daughter clings onto the shadowhunter and Raphael feels pity for her, he overthrows Camille. He straightens his back and looks into her eyes and he resists the urge to obey and let her touch him. She broke the accords. She killed a mundane and she still smells like caramel. The clan puts her in a casket and puts chains around the casket and the ache in Raphael’s concealer covered skin lessens.

  
“I’ll look after Simon”, he says after the fledgling scrambled to his feet and ran, after he drained the blood bags and choked on God. Valentine’s daughter sobs. Simon throws him against a truck and calls him a monster. Raphael stands up and lets him run.  
He appoints Simon ‘advisor to the interim chapter president’ to keep him from running after the shadowhunters like a lap dog. Simon scoffs and sulks. Camille bangs her fists against the casket and screams, fangs extended, eyes wide. Raphael feels her touches on his skin and tells Simon to take a walk. Lily offers him blood and he takes it, fingers shaking.

  
Simon lets her out and Raphael wants to go into the sun. Simon lets Camille out and Raphael thinks about lingering touches and bite marks and giggles, thinks about Magnus drinking a whole bottle of whiskey whenever Camille’s name is mentioned. He doesn’t think when he places the kill order, he just wants Camille to crumble and burn, just wants to rip her fangs out of her mouth.  
Lily vanishes and when she comes back, she smells of caramel and fear. Her dress is torn and she wears an expression of unveiled fury. Raphael doesn’t demand her to tell him what happened. He takes the smile she offers and scrubs his skin.

  
Simon comes back, night after night. He stands in front of the hotel, dark rings under his eyes, hands quivering. “I didn’t know”, he says. “I never meant for this to happen.” Raphael thinks of Simon’s limb, dead body and of caramel and of his rosary and a constant murmur of _God_ on his lips. He straightens his back and tells the clan to ignore the fledgling.

  
Magnus calls him. “Simon is missing”, he says and Raphael scoffs. He doesn’t care. His skin itches and aches and he longs to cover it and he doesn’t care. He thinks about lingering touches on his arms and about his hand on Simon’s thigh and then he hangs up.

Here’s what happens:

  
Simon signed a contract and freed Camille of all charges. It lies on Raphael’s desk, soaked in blood that smells of destruction and games. The casket rumbles and Camille screams. Raphael takes in the scent and hides Camille behind a wall. “Don’t let her out”, he tells the clan and they nod and obey.  
Simon stands in front of the hotel and when Raphael steps out, he looks up and apologies spill from his lips. Blood glistens on his hands and his fangs and Raphael feels the itch lessen. He takes Simon back.

  
Simon doesn’t touch him. He always keeps his distance, he doesn’t smile. Raphael feels his throat tighten and his temper rise. The scent of caramel fills his nostrils and he throws Simon against a wall during training. Simon takes it, swallows his wounded pride and looks at Raphael. He doesn’t even raise his hands and it makes Raphael want to scream.

  
“Touch me”, he says, later, when Simon’s teeth scrape against his skin, when light touches let the bite marks fade away. “Touch me”, he says, when Simon offers praise and blood that tastes like caramel. And Simon does, always waiting for permission and when his fingers graze Raphael’s crotch and he stiffens, Simon doesn’t complain. Instead, he whispers encouragements into his neck.

“You’re not broken, you’re so wonderful.”  
At day, when neither of them can sleep and the hotel is silent save for Camille’s screeches, Simon offers a vocabulary lesson. He tells Raphael about want and lust and attraction and Raphael takes it in. He wants to understand, wants to feel that too. When he tells Simon, he laughs and his fingers linger on Raphael’s thigh. “You don’t have to”, he says. “Not everybody does.”

  
He’s not alright with it at once. There’s still Camille’s smile in the back of his head and the bite marks on his skin, there’s still the memory of touches and fangs. But Simon’s fingers are gentle and soft and sometimes Raphael thinks he’s alive again. Then he bites into Simon’s neck and caramel fills his mouth and Simon arches his back and moans. Raphael stiffens. Simon shrugs and excuses himself. He leaves, his touch still lingering in Raphael’s mind and Raphael can hear the sheets ruffling in Simon’s room.

  
Camille’s screams die away. She’s weak, hasn’t fed in weeks and Lily stands in front of the wall, a smug grin on her lips, blood glistening in the corner of her mouth. “Bitch”, she says. Elliot laughs and Raphael’s skin burns. Simon puts a hand on his shoulder and offers a smile. Raphael takes it.  
Lily glares at Simon and Simon straightens his back and endures the clan’s wrath. It’s rotten blood and punches into his gut and Lily’s teeth in his back. Raphael offers blood and band aids and cuddles and faint kisses. Simon grins and starts to ramble about Star Wars.

  
It’s not perfect and the nightmares still haunt him, but Simon is gentle and understanding and caring and Raphael thinks that maybe he won’t need the concealer anymore.

  
He wears the bite marks as if they were battle scars, decades later, when they bury Magnus’ shadowhunter and Valentine’s daughter, when Magnus doesn’t wear glitter and Alexander Lightwood whispers his last goodbyes. The marks are prominent against his pale skin and Simon cries bloody tears that smell of caramel.

 

Here’s a scenario:

  
The New York vampire clan has never been this strong.

Simon understands and is empathic and he helps Raphael fix himself, but he never tries to make him feel the same kind of want. Raphael still feels Camille’s touches sometimes, when he jolts awake, when his nightmares get the best of him, and Simon takes him into his arms and kisses his skin, kisses the scars and his crucifix and the crook of his neck. Simon arches his back and offers his throat in submission and Raphael bites and gets drunk and high on caramel. Simon sighs.

  
Raphael has ice in his stare, his lips are curled into a sneer and he rules the vampires, Simon’s hand on his back, Camille’s screams still in his ears. The clan obeys and follows and whenever there’s a threat against Raphael, he finds a contract soaked in blood on his desk and Simon smiles, fangs extended, hands on Raphael’s thighs.


End file.
